Date: Fri, 19 Aug 2005 09:16:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: fetishguy
Subject: Slave to Young Stud
This story is generalized fiction with elements of real scenes included.
Contains references to ws, authoritarian, and other m/m sex scenes.
Contains strong references to incest, ws, authoritarian behavior. DO NOT
READ if you are not permitted to read such material. Constructive comments
appreciated to leathernvanillany@yahoo.com. FLAMES will be IGNORED.
Slave to Young Stud
None of my coworkers at the electronic publishing company I owned would
dare imagine where my mind wandered on Friday afternoons as I listened to
reports given by our sales force from all over the world. I'd founded this
business, and at 38, was considered a boy-wonder. I worked hard to keep my
body in shape, and at 5'9", 160 lbs., I had minimum body fat. I worked out
regularly to stay buff and ward off the stress of 14-hour days. I'd even
had a mini-gym installed in my office for times I couldn't get to the gym
or make it home. But I had one reason and one reason only for staying in
the best shape possible: Master Robert.
Within 20 minutes of leaving work every Friday, I greeted Master Robert at
his penthouse. He always seductively left his door open. I was expected to
appear within a minute in my slave's uniform: boots, thong, and dog collar
and meet him in his living room for cocktails. At 28, Master Robert was
stunningly handsome, a Teutonic god, buffed and waxed, exhibiting his chest
in a leather vest and his ass cheeks in pair of polished chaps. Chiselsed
facial features, always with a scruff of beard. His steel tipped boots and
leather cap framed his 6'5 form, splayed out on his master's chair. I
stopped by the mini-bar to make him his drink: Chivas on the rocks. For me,
just a tall, empty pitcher. I brought over the dozen red roses that a good
slave brings to his master. I knelt on the floor in silence as he drank his
Chivas and opened his roses.
"Good fuckin' dog," he said, grabbing my collar and yanking me close to his
face. Reflectively, I opened my mouth for a kiss, and Master Robert spat
down my mouth. I savored the taste of his spit as he threw me to the
floor. "Good dog."
"Get back on your fucking knees, dog. Start licking my boots."
It was always a pleasure to clean Master Robert's boots, beginning with the
steel tips and working my way to the heel and up the sides. He wanted one
boot cleaned thoroughly, then he'd kick my head, without a word, over to
the other boot, where I'd wash it with saliva, eagerly.
As he finished his drink, Master Robert decided to let me join in the
cocktail hour.
"Ok, boy, come to my favorite place."
I nestled my face in his crotch, in his musky-scented leather
cod-piece. For five or ten minutes I explore the area around his pubes,
above his golden brown thatch of pubic hair, to the sides of his magic
cock. Then when he felt that I was teased enough, Master Robert unbuckled
his cod-piece, giving me his beautiful rod to suck and to please. He guided
my mouth over his cock by placing his hand over the back of my head.
"Now dog, I guess you deserve something to drink. Fetch your glass."
I crawled to the table to get the pitcher I'd brought over before. Master
Robert had completely removed his cod-piece. It was a ritual we'd shared
that never ceased to thrill me.
His cock softened. He took the pitcher and aimed his penis in it. The flow
began. This time seemed endless. Oceans of piss.
"Wow, boy. Well, here's your cocktail. Don't spill a drop. And don't you
fucking leave a drop."
I must have looked hesitant. It was more than Master Robert had ever left
for me at one time.
"Don't give me any shit, boy. Drink it."
I reached for the pitcher before the piss grew cold and stale.
"Alright boy, take some deep hits to get you going," said Master Robert,
holding a poppers bottle to one nostril and holding shut the other
nostril. By the second hit my inhibitions were gone. I began gulping. The
piss tasted like hard cider. I drank. I gulped. Sweet. Master Robert's
essence. His sweet piss. In me.
"Good cocktail hour, boy. Pour me another drink."
As he got his second Chivas, Master Robert walked over to the mirrored
walls to admire himself and to let me body worship him. I began with the
front, licking his smooth, silky chest. I circled my tongue around his full
nipples. He lifted his pits, which were never fouled by any cologne, and
let me inhale his man essence.
I moved down to his six-pack abs, washing them gently with my tongue, over
and over.
He then guided me to his cock, standing at attention, for a quick
sucking. But Master Robert knew restraint. He knew his release would
come. He didn't need instant gratification. Next I tongued his hairless
balls, gently stroking them with spit and massaging them with my tongue. I
dug in further to his "favorite" place, between his balls and asshole. He
held my head, burying me there as I munched away.
Abrubtly, Master Robert turned around, revealing his perfectly round ass
cheeks. I knew the routine. Freed of its cod-piece, his ass was to be eaten
gently from the outside in. He liked me to chew lightly on each cheek and
then circle to his hairless hole. He liked to be rimmed in the truest sense
of the word, having my tongue encircle his ass lips, teasingly, as it
worked its way inside his hole. Once inside, I grabbed his ass cheeks to
help open his hole for my tongue. The goal was a tongue fucking and the
deeper the better. Today I was giving him deep pleasure...so much that he
ordered me to get the poppers bottle so that he could sensitize his hole to
my thrusts.
The thrill I had that I could tongue fuck my master Robert, that I, his
lowly slave dog, could give him pleasure. Sometimes I did not feel worthy
to even be in the same room and often felt relief when, as our nights would
end that is exactly what would happen: Master Robert off to the comfort of
his own bed and I to the deserved discomfort of the concrete slab in my
slave's cage.
But we had much more to share this Friday night...
Usually Master Robert would deliciously flog me, endlessly, until I cried
for mercy, my skin pink or red, my balls hanging with the weight or five or
six pounds of lead dangling from a ball parachute. Master Robert was an
artist with the flogger, blinding me with a hood, then surprising me,
coming at me from all angles, modulating the pace of his flogging. He'd
kiss my skin at first. Then he'd brutalize my naked form, balls, ass
included. Then nothing...lulling me into complacency. It was a dance
between us. But tonight was a night to do something different, to play some
more with getting my dick fucked.
Master Robert, fisting me one night, told me that some time he was going to
fuck both my holes. "You don't even know what I mean, do you, dog boy?"
"No, sir," I shivered.
"You'll find out."
And soon after he'd introduced me to sounds, those devious medical devices
that insert down your piss slit and actually massage your prostate from the
other end. Tonight Master Robert wanted to take me a little farther.
So he led me to his master bed, with a rubber sheet underneath, a rare
treat. He shackled me to the four corners, put a rubber pillow under my
head. The video cameras were on so I could watch my dick close up getting
fucked.
Meticulous as always, Master Robert, clad now in his studded leather
codpiece, half-executioner's hood, harness, and boots, gave me a drink of
piss to get going. He then sprayed my face and chest as a sign of his
contempt for me. I savored his urine.
He walked away and returned with the materials he'd need: the sounds
probes, the KY, the alcohol bottle, the poppers.
First, he grabbed my nut sack and put on me a leather ball stretcher--a
nasty thing with tiny metal teeth. It bit hard against my hairless skin.
"Fucker--you need to pay attention now. I'll make that tighter if you don't,
you scum dog."
With that he put a penis gag in my mouth, just make sure I said nothing to
interrupt his "operation."
Going to work, Master Robert gave me a hit of poppers in each nostril. Then
he dipped the thinnest sound in alcohol, then into the KY bottle. Fully
lubed with KY, the sound was ready to be dipped into my cock and Master
Robert grabbed my cockhead. Without forcing things, he let the sound slide
down by gravity. I watch in awe, my cock prepped by the poppers, my head
spinning, too, the TV picture making it more surrealistic. I was being dick
fucked.
"Yeah, pig dog, you like it when your Master Robert fucks your dick, don't
you, yeah."
"Yes, sir.," I could only nod.
Once the sound hit bottom and my prostate, Master Robert lubed up my cock
with his free hand and teasingly stroked my cock, sound inside. It was a
heavenly ache.
He pulled out the sound slowly, producing an orgasmic effect. I was in
heaven... and there were four larger sounds to go. He took the "finished"
sound and put in my mouth to suck as he prepared for the next one.
Each sound insertion produced and increasingly painful yet pleasant
effect. The larger the sound, the harder it went down. But once in, it was
an amazing physical and psychological feeling.
"You're going to take this fifth one," said my master. And I look on with
terror--it was huge. How could my cock envelope this probe?
"Just concentrate, let the poppers and the lube do the work. And relax."
Within and few minutes it worked. It was in! Master Robert pulled it out
slightly and then went to work. He lubed his hands fully and jerked me
off. Coming with a large sound in your cock is a fantastic experience--and
Master Robert was proud of me.
He pulled out the sound and deep kissed me, out of character. He stood over
me and jerked himself off, making sure he guided his jizm down my
throat. He knew what an accomplishment I had achieved. We held each other
in lust.
More to come? Let me know your reactions. leathernvanillany@yahoo.com